


The Swords of Braavos

by TheRedWulf



Series: Roosa One Shots [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Fencing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Canon, Regency, Regency Romance, Romance, Roosa - Freeform, Roose Bolton is His Own Warning, Smut, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-30 08:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Regency - In which the Duke of the Dreadfort finds a most unexpected treasure...Picset is viewableHERE





	The Swords of Braavos

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look...another one shot...  
ROOSA IS LIFE! Don't judge me. There is also smut....a lot of smut. Sorry?
> 
> I know, I know, I should be working on my open Stansa, ssssshh!  
For the 100th time I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

“They say that he cut men down like wheat across the battlefield.”

“I heard that he took their scalps, like those savages in America.”

“It wasn’t their scalps, you ninny, it was their skin!”

“No!?” as feminine gasp. 

“Yes, their flesh. The Boltons are known for their madness, didn’t you know?” 

“Madness” the feminine gasp became a whimper of fear. 

“I heard that he stabbed the usurper in the heart.”

“In bed!”

Sansa rolled her eyes, sipping her punch as she moved back into the crush of the Tyrell ballroom. 

Tonight was the annual Fall Masquerade, which really meant that the _ton_ would turn out in elaborate costumes and hold their masks aside while they all drank far too much punch and pondered terrible decisions. 

While the demure beauties of the _ton_ had opted for delicate costumes like peacocks and doves, Lady Sansa Stark, the _ton’s_ resident eccentric, opted for something a little more...risque. 

She hadn’t known that Lord Roose Bolton, Duke of the Dreadfort would be in attendance, otherwise she might have rethought her costume. Nonetheless, she would face his scorn, should he deign to give it. She would give a bow of the head and pretend, if only for a moment, that she was a proper society lady.

Not that she cared about being a proper society lady. If she did, she might have worried about slapping King Joffrey at the summer picnic, or refusing Lord Jaime Lannister’s or Lord Stannis Baratheon's propositions straight out. No, she cared little for the games and nuances of society, choosing instead to live by her own rules. 

Though, to be fair, her rules were no less proper than those of any other woman in society, but she chose to speak her mind, to be strong and empowering like the women of the North before her. She was no Southron flower, but a Northern wolf, and she would not bow to any man simply because he demanded it. 

_”Respect must be earned, and until you can respect them, treat them with cool indifference”, _ her mother had often told her, and Sansa had taken that to heart. She was no foolish child, not anymore. She had lost all but her elder brother, Robb, to the long winter and together they had to be strong enough to be the last of the Starks. 

Walking along the edge of the ballroom, she felt the hush fall across the room as the tall, broad figure appeared at the top of the stairs. So this was the warrior who had won them the Great War, she mused. 

Liar. Murderer. Betrayer. Warmonger. He had been called a great many things, but the truth of it was that without him, without his actions, they would not have won. They would all be dead, or worse; speaking the Dothraki tongue. 

Sansa smirked at her own joke, sipping her punch with apathy. She observed the _ton_ rather than the man himself, watching the way the men tried to stand taller and the women tittered to each other, fanning themselves. 

The men, of course, all attempting to seem more manly than the man who, at the Lord Hands order, travelled to Essos, infiltrated the ranks of the would-be-Queen Daenerys Targaryen and killed her and her advisors in a single, bloody event. 

_”The balls that must have taken”_ her sister, Arya’s laugh echoed in her mind. Balls indeed. 

The women, however, were both terrified of Lord Roose Bolton, and intrigued. Of course, he was unmarried and worth plenty of coin, but he intimidated them all. 

Well, Sansa thought, were he in search of a giggling, golden bride, he had come to the right place. 

“Sister” Robb’s voice called as he and his new wife, Jeyne, reached her side. “We’re going to steal a bit of fresh air, will you be alright?”

“Of course” she assured them, sparing no glance for the good-sister that had all but tricked Robb into marrying. Another fortune and title hunter, Lady Jeyne Westerling had proven to be. And Robb unable to resist her charms. 

Her father’s son, indeed. 

“We’ll return shortly” Robb gave a nod and escorted Jeyne away. 

Sansa returned to her observation of the room, though thanks to her brother’s interruption, had lost sight of Lord Bolton. Such a pity. Instead she watched the Queen Mother, Lady Cersei Baratheon as she flirted and drank her way through wealthy benefactors. 

She did not notice if Robb or Jeyne returned, but when the call for the “Masquerade Waltz” filled the ballroom, she did notice the hair at the nape of her neck rising. 

“The Red Queen herself” the sinfully deep, eloquent voice spoke behind her. She felt his voice like a lover’s caress, dancing across her flesh. She did not need to turn around to know who had spoken; no other man could have such a commanding, powerful voice. 

“Queen Bethany Bolton, a warrior of the North and the most violent Bolton to date, Though I’m sure you’re well aware of her accomplishments, Your Grace,” she replied without turning. 

“Does it not terrify you?” his voice sounded closer. 

“Monotony terrifies me, Your Grace,” she replied. “Violence does not. The world is built by killers, who are we to shun the very building blocks of humanity?”

“Dance with me,” he said, moving to her side and raising his hand. She looked to his black gloved hand and then up into the coldest grey eyes she had ever seen. 

He was still in wonderful shape, despite being in his early forties. He wore a sinister all black, looking like The Stranger himself. Broad shoulders, strong chest and a sharp jaw, though his hair and beard were mostly grey, they were well kept and suited him. His height was grander than hers, a rarity among the _ton_ and she imagined dancing with him would be enjoyable. 

Raising her hand to place it in his, she smiled, “I would be honored, Your Grace.”

He spotted her the moment he entered the room. His eyes had found her and been unable to look away. 

She was a _goddess_. 

Of course, it did not help that she was dressed in a deep, rich red that stood out amongst a sea of pastel silk. While the others bowed to vanity and held their masks aside, hers was tied in place, emphasizing the sharp line of her jaw and bright hue of her eyes. She simultaneously shunned and shone in society, her rejection of their norms easy for any to see. 

The Red Queen, he chuckled to himself. What a surprise she was. As far as he knew, Bolton history was taboo amongst the _ton_, and yet here she was in all her glory. 

He moved into the ball, his attention diverted when Lord Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, offered his hand, and the two gentlemen conversed for several moments. 

“Have you seen Lady Sansa? She looks like a harlot” Lady Cersei, the Queen Mother, hissed to her father. 

“Wearing red does not make her—“

“She’s ridiculous and it is insulting to my son’s throne!” Cersei glared and when Roose followed the direction of her gaze he found The Red Queen once more. Lady Sansa Stark then, he deduced. A proud Northern beauty. The Stark family was older than even his own, known for their rule in the North and care of their people. 

While at war, he had heard of the winter that devastated both the North and the Stark family. He knew that the new Lord Stark would be in attendance tonight, but he did not realize that beauty that was Lady Sansa.

Seeing an opportunity he excused himself from the Lord Hand and followed the edge of the room, moving closer to the woman. 

She was a tall, slender beauty with porcelain skin and a shock of fiery red hair atop her head. Her dress, though old-fashioned, suited the Red Queen perfectly. Moving behind her, he took in the dip of her waist and the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, bared by her gown. 

He could not have resisted her for all gold in Lannisport, and when she spoke he was captivated by the confidence of her tone. She was no simpering girl, but a woman grown and sure of her intelligence. She was brilliant. 

Her bright, crystalline eyes met his, the spark of strength in them drawing him further into her web. She was wholly unexpected but quite welcome; he had been expecting tonight to be boring but she was anything but. 

As they danced, he ignored the whispers and gossip around them. He cared little for what the _ton_ thought, and the little he did care died when he returned from Essos. 

He had done what was necessary, nothing more and nothing less. He did as his King commanded and had driven a dagger through the heart of the Dragon Queen, he had won them the war. 

And for his actions he was vilified. Returning home to Westeros, he had not expected to be ostracized and branded a traitor. He had betrayed no one, not truly, but they alienated him all the same. 

He did not mind their rejection, he had no need for society. Or so he thought. It was a lovely notion until one realized that marriage was a requirement of a Dukedom, and he had to venture to the marriage mart to find a suitable bride. 

No easy feat when you were a pariah. 

As the song came to a close, he held Lady Sansa closer the propriety allowed, his hand splayed across her back and above the bustle that had the red fabric falling like waves of blood around her. She held his eyes, her hand in his own, unflinching. 

He felt a smirk grow across his lips, smug and lustful. She would be his, he decided in that moment. No other woman would do, not for him. Her own lips formed into a secretive smile, the full lower lip begging for his touch. 

“I can read your mind, Lord Bolton” she whispered as the music drew to a close. 

“Can you?” 

“Indeed” she raised an arched brow. “It will take more than a dance to turn my head.” 

He chuckled, “And yet it has only taken a dance to turn mine.” 

“So easily wooed,” she teased. “Come to the Stark house tomorrow around noon, I believe you will rather enjoy our get together.”

“I accept” he gave a nod, reluctantly releasing her. “Until noon tomorrow.” 

“Lord Bolton” she said as he stepped away. “Wear something...comfortable.” 

“You’re insane” Robb chided as she adjusted her braid. 

“Robb--”

“No, literally insane” Robb laughed, shaking his head. “Lord Roose Bolton!?”

“You act like he is The Stranger” she tied her braid and pushed it back over her shoulder, twisting it to pin it to the nape of her neck. 

“The man has questionable morals, I will give him that” Robb said. “But everyone is terrified of him. How do you know he will keep _this_ a secret.” 

“Because he is not a monster, Robb. He is only a man” she replied. “A man as out of place as we are. Northern blood has no place here in the south. I cannot wait for the season to be over and for us to return home.”

Robb frowned and she felt her stomach drop, “Robb, no…”

“Jeyne wishes to stay--”

“Bloody hell, Robb!!” Sansa sighed. “Your family seat is in the North! Why did you have to marry her?”

“You know why, San” Robb stated. 

“Should have kept your cock in your pants” she moved away, standing before the rack of foils and swords. 

_ “Not that one”_ she heard Arya’s chastisement as she reached for a lighter foil, smiling she grabbed a heavier one beside it, testing the weight. _"Perfect."_

Jory appeared at the door way, bowing as he spoke, “Lord Umber, Lord Glover, Lady Mormont, and Lady Tarth for you, my lady” he announced. 

“I am taking Jeyne to town” Robb sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I will see you later.”

“Enjoy your day, Robb” she gave him a salute with her sword as he departed and she did her best to hide her grimace. 

She just wanted to go home, back to the North, but she was stuck in his city, in this hell, for as long as Lady bloody Stark wanted to be in town. 

The others entered, Lady Tarth and Lady Mormont grabbing to the clothes they had stashed in the cabinets before hurrying way to change. While here, in the large once-ballroom of the Stark house, women in men’s clothing was acceptable, it was not in the whole of town. So, Lady Lyanna Mormont and Lady Brienne Tarth would arrive in their customary dresses and change here before they began. 

Of course, if the whole of the _ton_ knew about the ‘Swords of Braavos’, the secret fencing club that Sansa had established in her sisters honor, they would be jeered and shunned like Lord Bolton. 

Growing up, there wasn’t much to do in the North and once their chores and lessons were done, Sansa and Arya would sneak to the yard and watch the men fight. They would mimic their movements, using sticks or whatever they could to make their own swords. They imagined themselves great warriors, princesses who would save themselves from any danger. They would fight until they collapsed with exhaustion, laying side by side to watch the sky darken, each of them dreaming of a life beyond becoming a vessel for any man’s seed.

Sansa would hold Arya’s hand, drawing on Arya’s unfailing strength to anchor her fear of the world. Of society. Her entire life she was told to be a proper lady, to be polite no matter the circumstance and she felt that it was a very gilded sort of prison.

Arya’s death had been the hardest to bear; the loss her blood sister, her soul sister and the only person in the world who understood her and loved her without judgment. She suspected she would never recover from losing her. Not truly.

“Lord Umber, Lord Glover” Sansa greeted the men as they shucked their jackets, hats and gloves. “Good afternoon.” Both men were truth Northmen, large, broad and with dark hair and eyes. They had survived the war and the sickness, though they also had lost most of their families. 

“Afternoon, Lady Sansa” Umber said. 

“Heard you made quite a splash at the ball last night” Glover chuckled. 

“Indeed” Sansa smiled. “And I have found our sixth.” 

“Have you?”

“Lord Bolton will be here shortly” Sansa explained and both men’s jaws dropped in shock. “I cannot wait to see what he can do.” 

“He will slaughter us all” Umber grabbed his foil from the rack. “He’s a god with a blade.”

“I cannot wait” Sansa smirked. 

“Cannot wait for what?” Brienne arrived, her tall, masculine blonde form now in the usual breeches, boots and linen shirt. Like Sansa and Lyanna, she was a woman with a passion for swordplay, and Brienne’s brute strength made her a formidable opponent. 

“Lord Bolton is coming” Glover chuckled. 

“Gods” Lyanna gaped. “How ever did you manage that?”

“I am not without my wiles” Sansa teased, stretching her arms. “Now then, who was up?” 

“Umber and Mormont” Brienne said. 

“Lovely, shall we begin?” Sansa beamed. 

Roose was, admittedly, intrigued by the invitation from Lady Sansa. On one hand, it could be a trap, a grand plan to trick him into marriage, but on the other ...He smirked as he was greeted by the butler. Trap or not, he was determined to see what was so secretive. 

He followed the man through the halls, the sound of crashing and grunting reaching him and he cocked his ears at the familiar noise. 

_No_ he thought as the butler opened the door. 

“Lord Bolton,” he announced. 

“Come, come!” a large Northman with a swollen cheek greeted him. “We’re almost done, she’s about to win.” 

“Win?” Roose stepped into the room and saw the source of noises, and his eyes went wide. 

There was Lady Sansa, in black breeches and a black shirt and waistcoat, fighting a large blonde woman dressed in tan and white. Both women moved with confidence and grace, the blonde sheer power while Lady Sansa was nimble and deadly.

“Welcome to the Swords of Braavos” the Northman extended his hand. “Greatjon Umber.”

“Lord Umber” Roose nodded, shaking his hand. “I admit, I expected some pretentious luncheon.”

“To the world, it is a pretentious luncheon, we’re a secret society of sorts” Umber explained. “That is Lady Lyanna Mormont,” he pointed across the way. “With her is Galbart Glover and with Lady Sansa is Lady Brienne Tarth.” 

“Quite the assembly of Northern peerage” Roose noted. 

“We have to survive the South somehow” Umber chuckled. 

Roose watched as the blonde landed a solid blow, following with an elbow to Lady Sansa’s stomach that had her reeling back. He tensed but before he could move, Sansa was laughing, her head thrown back. 

“Well met” she spun her sword deftly, then tossed it to the opposite hand. “Ready?”

“Ready” the blonde replied and they began once more.

Roose was hypnotized, watching as the woman who had been so incredibly beautiful in her red gown, dominated the field in snug breeches, her hair coming loose from its braid and dancing around her. 

With a lightning fast movement, Sansa had spun into the blonde’s chest, holding the blade to the woman’s throat. 

“Yield” the blonde said, smiling as she stepped back. 

“Damned, Brienne” Sansa laughed, rubbing her stomach. “You’ve got the sharpest damned elbows.”

“My secret weapon” the woman quipped and Sansa shook her head. It was then that she noticed him, a smile crossing her features. “Lord Bolton, you made it!” 

“Indeed” he bowed his head. “I must say, quite the secretive invite.”

“I had a suspicion that you would enjoy a good tumble” she raised a brow, her features even more beautiful without the mask. 

“It has been some time since I have enjoyed one, my lady” he met her taunt with his own. 

“Here I am Sansa, or Stark, we set our titles aside and meet as equals,” she explained. 

“In that case, you may all call me Roose” he instructed. 

“Roose” she smiled. “Take off your jacket and join us. We are all dying to see what you can do.” 

“Then allow me to indulge you” he shrugged out of his jacket. 

“If I may” Glover began. “I should like to test my metal.”

Roose nodded at the man, “Absolutely” he moved to the rack, looking over the blades and selecting one. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sansa as she poured several glasses of arbor gold wine and sat with the two women. It was odd to see them dressed as such, but the women exuded such powerful energy it was undeniable. They were unashamed, untamed and all the more beautiful for it. 

Sansa, however ...he swallowed, moving to the piste, the fencing strip. He was even more resolved to have her for his own. She not only looked like the Red Queen herself, but fought just as fiercely, and if there was a more intoxicating combination he could not say. 

“En garde” Glover saluted him. 

“En garde” Roose replied, and then they were fighting. 

Sansa watched as Roose and Galbart went back and forth. While both men were highly skilled, Roose seemed to be able to read Galbart from the beginning, anticipating his moves and attacks enough to parry them with ease. 

She watched Roose closely, looking for any tell or tick that he had and when she watched the toe of his boot move before each overhead attack, she smiled to herself. 

“He’s terrifying” Lyanna noted, sipping the wine. 

“But imagine” Sansa leaned closer to the two women. “A man so focused and intense in all areas.”

“Could it be?” Brienna gave a mocking gasp. “Has the mighty Maiden herself found a man to pique her interest.” 

“How could I not” Sansa watched as Roose landed a blow to Glover’s shoulder, the man yielding instantly. “Marvellous.” 

“At least he’s Northern” Lyanna shrugged. 

“And handsome” Sansa smiled once more. 

“The mighty have fallen” Brienne sighed, sipping her wine.

Sansa shrugged, watching the two men reset and start again. She had guessed last night that Roose would fit in amongst the others who sought only to enjoy themselves, their true selves, while trapped in society. The 'Swords of Braavos' was an escape, a fraternity of like minds and peers who could simply relax together. 

Robb, while knowing about the fraternity, chose not to participate, as his wife didn’t care for the violence or the women wearing men’s clothing. Sansa had merely laughed at Jeyne’s expression of disgust, explaining that someday, a woman may need to defend herself, and it would be wise of her to learn. 

Jeyne had not been swayed. 

Still, the Swords of Braavos met every Friday, most of them using the afternoon to unwind before diving back into any balls or engagements they had for the evening. 

For example, soon Brienne and Lyanna would have to leave and prepare for the Lannister dinner and card party tonight. Sansa was required to attend, but that didn’t mean she was enthusiastic about it. 

Roose landed another blow, this time making his count an even ten and marking his victory over Galbart. 

“Well met” Galbart gave a salute. 

“You’re very good” Roose encouraged. “Just watch your inside angles, as they are open to infiltration.” 

“Thank you” Galbart smiled. 

“Don’t move, Roose” Sansa set her glass aside and stood. Her foil lay on the floor at her feet, but with a careful flick from the toe of her boot, she launched it into the air and caught the handle. “Shall we?”

“Of course” he smirked, the same smirk he had while dancing with her last night. She moved into the piste and faced him. “How about a wager?” he suggested.

“Oh?” she smiled. 

“First to 3 points” he twirled his sword in his hand. “I win and I should like to court you, properly of course.” 

“And if I win?” she asked, knowing the others were watching them closely. 

“A Valyrian blade” he countered. “From my _personal_ collection.” 

“I accept” she smiled. “En garde.”

“En garde” he saluted her in return. 

She let him come to her, his patience, though good, did not meet hers and she allowed him the first attack. She watched his body and the toe of his boot, working quickly to anticipate his moves. 

Spinning away from an attack she moved into his personal space and landed a blow to his stomach, “Point” she whispered, their faces inches from each other. 

“What would you say to widening our area of play?” he asked as she stepped back. 

“The whole room enough for you?” she asked as she took her place in the piste.

“Perfect” he agreed and then they were truly fighting. 

Back and forth, they attacked and parried, doing their best to dance out of the way of the other. Roose stepped off the piste first, backing toward the rack of blades before spinning her and as she moved, he landed a blow to her shoulder. 

“Point” he said. 

She smirked at him over her shoulder as they moved back to the piste, the others applauding lightly. She watched him loosen his cravat and toss the fabric aside, his shirt parting to reveal bare skin and a sprinkling of chest hair that momentarily distracted her. 

_He wasn’t playing fair_ she smirked. Two could play that, she pushed her black sleeves to her elbows, subtly loosening her top button and rolled her shoulders back. She watched his eyes travel to the exposed flesh of her collarbone and decolletage. Perfect. 

“En garde” she challenged and they began again.

She had him on the defensive straight away, working back until he was forced to hop onto a vacant chair to escape her. As he deftly jumped away, she grew over-confident and when she moved to attack, he dropped his sword to his opposite hand and she felt the tip press into her stomach. 

“Point” he whispered. 

“Touche” she stood tall as he moved closer.

“I intend to win” he said softly, not sparing a glance to those watching them. 

“As do I” she replied. 

“We’ll see” he taunted, moving back to the piste.

When they began again, he attacked first once more, backing her out of the field and onto the marble. When he moved the toe of his boot, she slid out of the way of the overhead attack, but when his elbow hit her shoulder she stumbled. 

“Shit” he cursed, but she didn’t hesitate, whirling to land a blow to his shoulder with her foil. 

“Pointe” she said, panting for breath. 

“Are you hurt?”

“I’ve had worse” she smirked. “Match point now.” 

“Just so” he replied. 

“En garde” she saluted and she struggled to keep up. It was clear now that he had been holding back on her, learning her skill and now he was exploiting her. She stepped backwards quickly and when the wall met her back, she knew she’d lost, even before his foil met her sternum. “You tricked me.” 

“I learned you” he replied smugly. “You’re _very_ good.” 

“Not good enough” she replied. 

“You and I both know that you want me as badly as I do you” his voice dropped, impossibly low and barely audible over the applause of the others. 

“A lady never speaks of such things” she smiled, knowing that her cheeks were a bright read. 

“I can see it in your eyes” he stepped slightly closer, enough for her to feel the heat of his body. “You are wild, yes, but you ache for a firm hand. For a man to best you, to possess you. Only, it must be a worthy man.” 

“No man ever has” she quipped. 

“Until me, just now” he lowered his foil and she stood from the wall. 

“Until you” she echoed. 

“Well met!” Umber broke into their moment, causing them to pull apart. “You two! Wow!”

Sansa looked to Lyanna and Brienne who were hiding their knowing smiles behind their wine glasses. She raised a hand to her cheeks, feeling the warmth there and wondering how Roose Bolton had managed to reduce her to a blushing maid within a few moments. 

“I would drive you to the Lannister party” Roose said, reaching for her hand but stopping before he could touch her. 

“7 o’clock then?” she smiled. 

“Until then.” 

“You’re gorgeous” Roose raised his hand to greet her as she emerged from the Stark house. Gone were the black trousers, boots and shirt from this afternoon and in their place was a stunning maid in a dove grey gown and bright blue ribbon at her waist. 

“You clean up rather well yourself, Your Grace,” she curtsied and allowed him to escort her to the carriage. 

“Then we shall make a handsome couple” he said boldly, watching her cheeks flush in the most becoming manner. 

Sansa Stark was a beautiful, intelligent and fiery woman, the likes of which he’d never experienced before. He had not expected to meet someone like her in town, and he had no plans to let her escape a matrimonial fate. 

He would court her, woo her and when she was his bride he would spend days in bed with her, fucking her, making love to her, making her gasp and scream his name with pleasure unmatched. 

He was a man of great talents, both on the battlefield and in the bedroom. He would use them both to seduce Lady Sansa Stark. 

She would be his wife, of that he was certain. With her the Bolton bloodline would be stronger than ever. Son and daughter alike would be fierce and powerful, able to protect the North and the Dreadfort. 

He helped her inside and as soon as he hit the seat, they were off, trotting towards the Lannister house and the dinner party that awaited them. 

“Are you looking forward to the Lannister party?” Sansa asked. 

“Not in the slightest” he replied. 

Sansa laughed, the sound clear as a bell, “Neither am I. I detest these events.”

“Perhaps we can make a game of it,” he suggested. “To rescue each other should we be trapped in unwanted conversation.”

“An alliance then” Sansa replied. “Sounds mutually beneficial.”

“I believe we’ll be great allies, Lady Sansa” he ran a hand over his beard. 

“You speak of more than just tonight” she was sharper than any gave her credit for. 

“I am hopeful, yes” he admitted. 

“As I said, it takes more than a waltz to woo me, but you _are_ very good with a blade” she pulled a mirror from her reticle, checking her hair with an odd display of vanity. He supposed that events such as these, vanity and courtesy were her armor, protecting her from the remarks and judgement of society.

“As are you, Lady Sansa” he said. 

“Then we are equals, Lord Bolton” she said, tucking her mirror away. “I much prefer it when you call me Sansa.”

“And I, when you call me Roose” he said as the carriage rounded a corner. 

“Should you wish to marry me, Lord Bolton, you’ll have to speak with my brother,” she explained. “But you should also know, I don’t intend to be a submissive, dutiful wife.”

“Oh?”

“Nor do I desire a cold, vacant arrangement filled with obligation and duty” she explained. “Should I have wanted that, I would have accepted Ser Jaime Lannister or Lord Stannis Baratheon.”

“And what do you want, Sansa?” he asked. 

“Loyalty, fidelity and passion,” she replied. “I would share my husband with no whore and no widow. He would be mine, as I would be his.”

“I would require nothing less” he replied, sitting back in his seat. 

“Then we are in agreement” she said. 

“I am going to marry you, Lady Sansa Stark” he smirked. 

“Are you?” she smirked. 

“Oh yes,” he agreed as the carriage slowed to a stop. “In a sennight, in a fortnight, I will have you” he leaned forward as the carriage stopped. 

“You want to fuck me, Roose” she leaned forward, close enough that they shared breath and he was overwhelmed by the scent of her lavender of her perfume. 

“Sansa—-“

“To take me,” she leaned closer, their lips nearly touching. “To listen to me scream your name…”

“I will have you” he promised, raising a hand to cup her jaw, smoothing his thumb over the silk of her skin. “And I will worship you.”

“That is good news,” she whispered against his mouth as the carriage door opened. “I am a Red Queen in need of a devoted subject.”

“Your wish is my command, Lady Sansa” he exited the coach, turning to offer his hand and help her to the stones. “Together?” He asked as they faced the entrance. 

“Together” she agreed, taking his arm. 

“Lord Bolton has spoken with me” Robb said plainly as he sat across from Sansa where she sat at the piano. 

“Did he?” she smiled, absently playing the nocturne on the pages before her. 

“He wishes to marry you” Robb continued. “Considering your many appearances together, and his attendance of your secret society, I would guess it is agreeable to you.”

“Perhaps” she smirked, pausing her playing and turning to face her brother. “What did he offer?”

“He doesn’t want your dowry” Robb stated. 

“Oh?” she smirked. 

“He seems to just want _you_.”

“I accept” she nodded, smoothing her skirts. “I want just _him_ as well.”

“Do you love him?” Robb asked. 

“I could” she replied. “He is a good man. Strong, intelligent and kind.”

“Then I will accept the offer” Robb nodded, sipping his tumbler of whiskey. 

“Good” Sansa faced her brother. “And perhaps he’ll take me home, to the North.”

“Sansa—”

“Don’t,” she stood. “You lied to me, Robb. Your wife is more important now, and that’s fine. I'll take a husband who values me as an equal and respects my wishes.”

“You don’t understand—“

“No, I don’t” she shook her head. “I don’t understand why you had to sleep with a woman of the _ton_, Robb. Why you fell victim to seduction and now you’re trapped with a Southron wife who hates your Northern blood. So, yes, I’ll take a husband who values Northern blood, Robb.”

“You think I let down the Stark name” Robb said as he stood. 

“I do” she replied without hesitation. “But worse, I feel you let yourself down.” 

“I’m sorry for that, Sansa” he shook his head, setting his glass down. “I do care for Jeyne.”

“That’s fine, Robb” she reasoned. “But I will marry Lord Bolton, and I will return home. Away from this hell.”

“I hope you get your wish, sister, I do” Robb said sadly. “One of us should be happy.” 

“I’ll do my best” she smiled. 

“My brother tells me you’ve offered for me” Sansa smiled as they walked through the Baratheon gardens. Her hand was once more on his arm, holding to the fabric of his coat. He indulged himself, laying his hand over hers. Though they both wore gloves, he imagined that he could feel the warmth of her skin through it all. 

“I have made my intentions known, yes” he nodded. 

“You wish to marry me” she paused in her walk to look up at him. 

“I have made no secret of my desire to marry you, Sansa” he smirked over at her, admiring the way her hair seemed to glow in the evening sun. 

“Why me?” she asked, pausing in their walk to face him. 

“I came to town against my will,” he faced her. “I knew that I must do my duty to my title and to my family name. I was prepared to settle for a woman who was not afraid of me. One who believed I would not murder her in her sleep” he gave a dry chuckle. “The masquerade was not my first society event and I saw the way people treated me. So, imagine my surprise when I arrived to see a Red Queen, shining like a diamond amongst the crowd. It took no small amount of bravery to wear such a dress, especially when the King would be in attendance” he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the fabric over her knuckles. 

“Bravery or insanity” she laughed. 

“Perhaps both. Regardless, I knew that I must speak with you, and when I did, I learned that you are a singular woman, Sansa Stark. You are beautiful, strong and intelligent. You are not afraid of the reality of violence’s role in the world, and you are not afraid of me.”

Sansa smiled up at him, “There is nothing to be afraid of, Roose. You are not a man prone to temper, nor are you cruel. You have done violent things, deadly things, but war brings hell to us all.” 

“An understanding that most cannot reach,” he replied. “I enjoy your company, our conversations and fencing with you. Though I fear one day you shall beat me and I will never hear the end of it.”

“Should I best you, I would brag to the world” she teased. 

“You have already bested me, in one regard, Sansa” he held her hands in his. “You thoroughly own me, though I believe you already know this. Should your brother agree to my offer, I would marry you and we can both escape this city together.” 

“I have it on very good authority that he will accept” she smiled. 

“Oh?”

“I might have put in a good word for you” she stepped closer, her skirts brushing his polished hessian boots. 

“Did you now?” he raised a brow. 

“Roose” she moved closer still. 

“Sansa.”

But she did not reply, only stepped closer and, in full view of anyone in the gardens, raised her lips to his. He met her kiss with ardent affection, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close. It had been years since he had kissed a woman, and never one he truly cared about. 

She held to his coat, full lips parting as her head tilted, allowing him deeper into the warmth of her mouth. She whimpered softly and his brain kicked into gear, realizing that he was devouring her in the Baratheon gardens. 

He pulled back, parting their lips and he could see the redness from his beard and the serene smile on her face. She was stunning, his Sansa. 

As he held her, movement to his left caught his eye and he turned to see the figure of Lord Stannis Baratheon retreating into the house. Stannis, a Duke in his own right, had once offered for Sansa, but he had been rejected. 

Roose should have felt guilty, but he couldn’t, not when he had her in his arms. 

She opened her eyes, the bright blue slightly glossy, dark with desire, “Roose” she smiled. 

“Marry me, Sansa” he asked. “We’ll run away. Live our life as we choose.”

“I’ll marry you, Roose” she smirked. “But don’t for a second think that I am going to be a perfect little flower.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, darling.” 

“I think” Umber said as they relaxed around the table in the ballroom. The ‘Swords of Braavos’ had been fencing all morning and were finally pausing to enjoy a snack and a glass of wine. “After the wedding, I too shall return North. I miss the cold, the real cold.” 

“Hear hear” Lyanna raised her glass. 

“I will stay,” Brienne replied, hiding her blush with her glass, sipping slowly. 

“Who is he?” Sansa asked. 

“Who is who?” Brienne’s cheeks darkened. 

“A beau?” Lyanna smiled. “Do tell!”

“I would rather not” Brienne laughed, shaking her head. 

“Well, if we go North, we can continue to meet, perhaps once a month” Sansa returned to the previous topic. 

“I have quite the training room and yard at the Dreadfort” Roose offered and she turned to smile at her betrothed. 

Tomorrow they would be wed, and from then on she would be Sansa Bolton, Duchess of the Dreadfort. She found that she could not wait. Not only because they would be traveling North after the wedding, but because finally they would be able to explore the passion that simmered just below the surface. The lust that threatened to consume her every time she was around him. 

Roose was a potent man, powerful and commanding, and she found herself anxious to be at his mercy, a slave to his touch. He had promised once to worship her, and if his kisses were any indication of what awaited, she would very much enjoy being his wife.

Their engagement had, for some reason, shocked the _ton_. Why, she had no idea, but they all seemed surprised that of all the women he could have chosen, that Roose had chosen her. A testament, perhaps, to society’s ability to forgive men their violence but not women their individuality. 

The first dinner they attended after the banns had been read, the entire room had fallen silent upon their entrance, all eyes turning to face them. She supposed that they hadn’t done themselves any favors, her in a deep burgundy dress and Roose in all black with a burgundy waistcoat of the same fabric. Both of them tall and imposing, they looked a pair of otherworldly phantoms facing off against the _ton_. 

Still, the women had been cold, catty, spreading rumors of Sansa seducing Roose, forcing him to marry her as Jeyne had done to Robb not six moons ago. She hated being compared to Jeyne, and Roose had barely been able to hold her back from slapping Lady Margaery in the middle of the party when she made the comment aloud. 

“I miss the snow” Lyanna sighed. “I will go North as well.”

“No beau for you?” Glover smirked. 

“I only have eyes for you, Galbart” Lyanna teased and he laughed loudly. 

“Speaking of,” Umber raised his glass. “A toast before we steal Roose away for a last bachelors dinner. May your marriage be filled with happiness, fencing and many Northern children. Cheers!” 

“Cheers” the others raised their glasses, all of them clinking before they drank. Sansa smiled as Roose’s hand found hers, squeezing gently as they celebrated with their friends. 

“You’re stunning” Roose whispered, kissing her knuckles.

“You’re just saying that because I am your wife” she laughed, leaning against his side as they rode in the carriage back to Roose’s townhouse. This morning they had been married, their friends and her family watching on as they spoke their vows and became man and wife. 

After sharing a small, intimate luncheon with their friends, Robb and Jeyne leaving early as Jeyne claimed she had a terrible migrim, they were now headed to his home. There they would spend their wedding evening and night before leaving for the North in the morning. Her trunks and belongings had already been sent over, all of her swords and the like packed as well, ready to be installed at the Dreadfort. 

Roose removed her glove, raising her hand to his lips where he trailed kisses across her skin, sending shivers through her. He placed a kiss over her ring finger and the blood red diamond that now rest there. Red diamonds were a gem so rare that they belonged only to the Bolton family. The rich, scarlet color now marked her forever as Lady Bolton.

“I knew the moment that I met you that I wanted to keep you” he whispered, his voice rushing over her skin. 

“And now you can” she replied. 

“Would it scandalize you to know how badly I have wanted to take you” he kissed the curve of her thumb. “That I imagine making love to you, fucking you, for hours” his lips trailed to her inner wrist. 

“Not at all” she reached out to lay her hand across his knee. “Women are not without fantasties of their own, husband. Even if I have no true education on the matter, I do imagine us together.” 

“What do you imagine?” he asked, nuzzling the bare flesh of her wrist. 

“Being held tightly, the feel of your skin against mine,” she whispered. “Of what it would be like to be surrounded by you, to have your body joined with mine. To belong to you, and only you.” 

“You do belong to me, as I belong to you” he placed a hand over hers on his thigh, guiding her hand up his leg until it was moving of its own will, settling over the hard length of his cock through his trousers. 

“Oh” she gasped softly and he groaned as she massaged the flesh. “This is mine” she whispered.

“It is” he promised, leaning forward to take her lips. She sighed, sinking into the passionate kiss, her hand exploring the hard length of him, surprised at how large and thick his cock was. Not that she had experience with them, but she never imagined they would be so large. 

She did not realize that Roose’s hand had moved until she felt his hand slip into the bodice of her dress, cupping her breast and teasing the peak with deft movements. She whimpered, flush spreading across her on a wave of lust that she had ever experienced before. 

She felt the carriage slow and then stop, both of them reluctantly parting a second before the door opened. Roose carefully adjusted himself, pulling his coat closed before he stepped from the carriage, turning to help her as well. 

“Your Grace” the butler gave a smile and bow as he greeted them. 

“Wolkan” Roose acknowledged. “My dear, this is Wolkan, a more loyal man you have never met.” 

“It is lovely to meet you” she smiled. 

“You as well, Your Grace,” the older man smiled. “May I offer my felicitations on the event of your marriage.” 

“Thank you” Roose said. “We are anxious to return home, to the North, as I know you are.”

“Indeed” Wolkan agreed. “Everything is set for the trip, Your Grace.” 

“Thank you, Wolkan” Roose looped her hand over his arm. “We will send for dinner later, but do not worry about making anything fancy.” 

“Of course, Your Grace” the man bowed his head as Roose led her up the stairs and inside the townhouse. 

Roose could feel the tremble of Sansa’s hand where it lay on his arm. Though they were both anxious to share their marriage bed, he knew that there was still a sliver of fear in his wife’s blood. It would be painful, that much he knew, and he would do his best to spare her any unnecessary pain. 

She removed her bonnet as they stepped inside and he was grateful to see the beauty of her auburn curls once more. She was so beautiful, his lovely wife. Young, nearly half his age, but with a spark and fire of intelligence that was not often found. 

He escorted her to the master’s chambers, pausing in the doorway to lift her into his arms and carry her inside. She laughed softly, holding to his neck, and rather than put her down, he kicked the door closed behind him and carried her directly to the large bed. 

As he lowered her to the counterpane, her lips found his once more, picking up where they had been forced to break off in the carriage. The tension that had been building between them from that first dance, had broken free and there was no stopping them. 

He had already unbuttoned her spencer coat in the carriage, and now worked it free and tossed it away before removing his own jacket. Sansa clung to his shoulders, her lips meeting his at every turn, their kisses sloppy and backed with unbridled lust. 

He heard her shoes hit the floor as she kicked them off and he smiled, using a free hand to bunch her skirts. He raised the fabric to bare her long, perfect legs and the fact that she wore no small clothes, only silk stockings with ties. 

“Gods” he groaned, running a hand over the porcelain flesh. It was smoother than silk and so deliciously perfect. 

“Roose” she sighed as he stroked her inner thigh, nearly reaching her core but stopping short. He broke their kiss, turning to drink in the beauty of her. The hair at the apex of her thighs was just as red as the hair on her head, and soaked with her juices, her folds already pink and swollen.

“Perfection” he stroked her sensitive flesh and she gasped. 

“Roose!” she cried out as he circled her bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb, her hand shooting out to cling to his bicep. 

“If you would indulge me” he moved back long enough to shed his waistcoat, cravat, shirt and boots before crawling back to her. Instead of moving to kiss her, he buried his face in her pussy, devouring her with long laps and gentle suckling, her cries and gasps driving him wild. 

This woman, this pussy was his and his alone, he growled as he lapped at her, his beard soon soaked with her juices. He smiled against her lower lips as she began to curse incoherently, the proper Lady long forgotten as she trembled against his mouth. 

She was clawing at the counterpane but her hands soon found his hair, holding to the grey locks as she ground her hips against his face. She was all passion, fire and lust, just as he knew she would be. 

When she came, he was certain the neighbors heard her screaming, the sound filled their bed chamber, her body shaking violently against his mouth, pulsing over and over as she rode each wave. 

Wiping his beard on his discarded shirt, he moved back up her body as she lay replete and panting. They shared soft, lingering kisses as he helped her from her dress, stays and shift, and when she was finally naked before him, he could only stare in wonder at his wife. 

“You are perfection” he ran a hand over her hip, pausing to trace a scar above her navel. 

“Arya and her first sword” Sansa explained with a soft smile. “Sharper than expected.” 

He nodded, “Something to remember her by, I suppose” and Sansa nodded, reaching out to trace a few of the scars across his arms and chest. He had seen war, espionage and betrayal, some of it echoing on his body. 

Her touch was soft but confident, tracing the lines of his muscle, teasing him with blunted fingernails. He gave into the urge to taste her once more, and leaned down to pull one of her breasts into his mouth, suckling the peak until she was writhing once more. 

“Roose” she sighed as his fingers delved back into her folds as he worshipped her breasts. 

“I want to watch you come apart” he whispered, gently biting her jeweled nipple as he found her clit and began to circle it. 

“Please…” she cried out, clinging to him. He did not relent, never slowing his movements until she was screaming out in pleasure once more. He released her breast with an audible ‘pop’ to watch her ride her pleasure, her head thrown back and chest heaving as she panted for air. 

He shed his breeches and small clothes, his cock rock hard and begging--no, demanding to be inside of her. 

“Sansa” he whispered, settling between her legs. 

“Do it” she nodded, watching as he stroked his cock a few times. She did not hide her admiration of his cock, awe at the size she would have likely have expected. He was a large man in stature and in this area he was well endowed. 

Lowering himself, he kissed her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth and distracting her as he aligned himself with her core. She was soaked and pliant, both would aid her in taking his cock. 

Notching himself against her channel, her hips rose to meet his and then he slid inside of her, pushing through her barrier and stretching her until he was bottomed out inside of her. 

“Fuck” Sansa twisted away from the pain of the invasion of his body, her hands digging into his arms as he filled her. 

“Mine” he growled, holding himself deep inside of her as she whimpered. She had not expected to feel so full, so stretched and it was overwhelming. 

The pleasure he had wrung from her body had been unlike anything in this world, consuming her until she felt she would burst into flames or simply melt into a puddle. She had not expected him to use his mouth to eat her, lick at her until she lost control, it had been incredible. 

Roose was just as impressive without clothing as he was in them. Broad, powerful and strong, he was every inch a warrior. The grey hair on his head matched the dusting across his chest, arms and thighs, all of it tickling her as he held himself on his elbows over her. 

“Better?” he asked and she nodded, realizing that her distraction of examining his person had helped her to relax, the vise grip of her body around his easing until she no longer felt the burn, only a slight ache. 

“Yes” she nodded, reaching up to cup his face. “You’re my husband now.” 

“And you’re my wife” he rocked his hips slowly and she felt the burn return, she did her best to breathe and relax as he moved. “You feel incredible, Sansa, Gods. So hot, so tight, fuck.” 

“I love seeing you this way” she marvelled. “Out of control, a slave to our passion.” To the world he was a controlled, aloof man, even in the piste he was in control, every attack planned, but here in their bed chamber he was wild. In control, yes, but a slave to their lust.

“I am your slave, my queen” he kissed her softly, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm now. 

She wiggled under him, widening her legs to they rest against his sides. The angle of his movements changed and she felt the burn fade to desire as he moved within her. Her hands wandered his body and she found she rather adored the muscles of his upper back, holding them as they flexed with each movement. 

“Fuck” he hissed. “So fucking good…this will be embarrassingly quick.”

“It does not matter, Roose” she kissed along his bearded jaw, watching his eyes, now a dark grey with lust, as he chased his own release. “My Roose” his hips sped at her words, the pain returning as he fucked her in earnest. She held onto him tightly as he took her, the wet sounds of their joining punctuated by his pants and curses. 

“Fuck, Sansa” he growled and a few hard thrusts later she could feel him shake, and then he was coming inside her, coating her inner walls with his seed. His movements slowed and she felt his seed spilling from her, the sensation odd but pleasant, a reminder that she was his wife now, in every way. 

He lay his head over her chest, breathing heavily as she stroked his bare back. She had never felt more contented in her life. True, she ached a bit, but she had made love to her husband, they had consummated their vows and she was now Lady Sansa Bolton. Somehow, in the madness of it all, she had managed to find a man that didn’t stifle her, the true her. In fact, he encouraged it and she couldn’t wait to return North and start their lives together. 

He kissed her chest, just over her sternum, softly, “A bath, perhaps?” 

“Yes” she smiled as he lifted his head to look at her. 

“It should help with the pain” he frowned softly. 

“I am well” she said. “A bit sore, but well.”

“You are stunning, my dearest, absolutely beautiful” he kissed her collarbone. 

“And you, husband, are not allowed to wear clothing in the privacy of our rooms” she ran her hands over him. 

“Oh?”

“You shall remain naked, I demand it so” she smirked. “Your clothes hide all of this delicious muscle.” 

He laughed, their bodies shaking as the deep sound filled the room, “As my wife wishes, it shall be done.” 

“My first act as a Duchess” she declared. “My Duke shall remain naked at all times in our bed chamber.”

“Then, my first act as a married Duke shall be to demand the same of my Duchess” he nuzzled her bare breasts. “No clothing.”

“Agreed!” she smiled as he moved up to kiss her, her arms wrapping around his neck. 

“Oh fuck!” Sansa whisper-cried into the padded seat of the carriage as Roose fucked her. They were in the middle of nowhere, heading North and they had been unable to keep their hands to themselves.

Kisses had turned into petting and then she was begging for him to take her. Now that she knew what pleasures awaited her at his hand, she would need Roose every hour of every day for the rest of her life. 

The tight confines of the carriage being what they were, it was easiest for her to kneel on the floor and hold onto the opposite seat. Roose had wasted no time in moving her skirts up and sinking into her slightly-sore but soaked channel. 

They had made love a few times throughout the night, but not in this position and in it she felt Roose so deeply she imagined she could choke on him at this angle.

He was doing his best to smother his growls, fucking her without mercy, one hand teasing the bundle of nerves that had her chasing her peak. His other hand was filled with her hair, anchoring her at the nape of her neck. 

“Good fucking girl” he praised softly, holding the cheeks of her ass as he plowed into her. “No proper Duchess here, just a woman begging for my cock.” 

“Roose, please” she cried, clinging to the seat, his cock hitting something inside of her that had her losing control. She felt him in every inch of her body, her husband possessing her as her body did its best to hold his cock inside of her. 

“Fuck” he growled, the sound one of her favorite in the world. 

She covered her mouth with her hand and screamed as she came, her body clenching around his. Roose followed, fucking her harder as he poured into her, their fluids flowing down her thighs. 

She felt him wipe her legs with his handkerchief and then she was floating, her body moved to settle across his lap, strong arms holding her closely. 

“Mm,” she sighed, relaxing against him, smiling as he kissed her temple. “Do you think they heard us?”

“Without a doubt” he chuckled, tightening his arms around her. 

She felt her cheeks heat, “How embarrassing!”

“I am not ashamed of what I feel for you,” he reasoned.

“And what is that?” She asked, tucked a few errant curls behind her ear. 

“Love, of course” he replied, meeting her eyes. 

Her heart began to race, “What…?”

“You didn’t think I married you simply to possess you, did you?”

“You...love me?” 

“I can tell by your surprise that you didn’t expect this” he chuckled. “I’d be a fool not to love you, Sansa.”

“Fool enough to let me beat you?” she smiled wide with hope. 

“Not a chance” he smirked as she leaned forward to kiss him. 

“I love you, Roose” she ran a hand through his short hair before smoothing it over his beard. 

“Good” he smirked that dangerous grin that had her insides turning to mush. “Because I mean to take you again before we reach the Dreadfort.”

“Do you now?” she ran her hand down his chest. 

“Absolutely.”

Sansa reined her mare to stop at the top of the snow covered hill, closing her eyes to breathe deeply of the northern air. Home, she smiled, listening to the wind passing through the trees beyond and the river below.

She loved being home at the Dreadfort, it was even further North than Winterfell and seated along the Weeping Water, a river she could see from this hilltop. 

She’d been married for three moons now, and soon they would have their first ‘Swords of Braavos’ meeting at the Dreadfort. She was excited to see the others, though she rather enjoyed having her husband to herself. 

Roose was, incredible. More loving and passionate than she could have hoped for. 

Their first fortnight in the Dreadfort they’d been all but locked away in the master’s chambers, lost in each other. 

Her husband was highly skilled with a blade, but his tongue was the truest weapon, as it reduced her to a screaming, begging mess each time he devoured her. Not that she was complaining. On the contrary, her husband was a legendary lover. A fact she relished in.

With him, she had learned the nuances and pleasures of the marriage bed, learning how to give and take pleasure with him. Despite his reputation for violence and cruelty, he was unfailingly patient and kind hearted. 

She was so lost in memories of her husband, that she didn’t hear the two men approaching until they were upon her. 

“Well, well” the first man, a dark haired young man said, leering at her. 

“Who might you be?” the second asked, his teeth horribly yellow and crooked as he leaned over the withers of his mount. 

She swallowed thickly, grateful that, for her ride, she had chosen the dark boots, breeches and doublet of a Northman, a sword hanging at her hip. 

“Warrior princess, eh?” the first chuckled. 

“Lady Bolton” she replied, backing her horse away. 

“Not so fast, beautiful” the second moved to block her path, her horse dancing with nerves. 

“Lady. Bolton” she corrected him. “You are not permitted to call me anything but ‘my lady’.”

“Won’t matter what your title is when we have you on your back” the first laughed. 

She felt fear rushing through her veins, and in an instant she turned her mount, spurring it to top speed away from the men. She knew without looking that they had given chase, their laughter and taunts echoing across the snow. 

The Dreadfort came into view as she crested another hill and she prayed that she made it. Either way, they would be able to see her, see that she needed help. They would get Roose, he would come, she knew it.

Out of nowhere, the first man used his horse to bump hers, sending the mare stumbling and Sansa flying into the snow. Her entire body hurt, everything ached, but she forced herself to her feet, unbuckling her cloak. Pulling the pistol and sword free from her belt, she faced the two attackers, both of them dismounting and stalking towards her. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing with those, girl?” the first chuckled. 

“Fuck you” she raised the pistol and fired, hitting him in the throat. Lower than she intended but it did the job. The shot echoed across the snow and the man fell, bleeding a deep red stain onto the pristine white.

“You bitch! That was my brother!” the second man pulled his sword from the scabbard as she tossed the pistol aside. 

“Was” she glared, twirling her blade. He cursed in fury and attacked.

Roose was speaking with Wolkan when the shouting echoed. Setting his papers aside he was moving to the hall when the gunshot rang through the air. 

“Get to the Lady!” the guards were shouting now and his blood ran cold. He was moving before he realized it, running toward the stairs and out into the yard. 

“Where is she?” he demanded. 

“The east! She killed one, but there’s another!” a guard yelled down to him. 

Roose grabbed the nearest horse, shoving the rider to the mud and spurring it to speed, racing out of the gates. 

Heading east he saw her as he reached the foothills, one body laying on the snow and her doing her best to fight off the screaming man. He rode as fast as he could, the guards just ahead of him. 

He watched in horror as the man landed a solid blow to her thigh, Sansa stumbling back and then she was cursing, counter-attacking and sending the man to his knees, clutching his chest. 

“Get him, now!” Roose ordered the guards and he dismounted as Sansa stumbled back and to her knee. “Sansa” he wrapped an arm around her, helping her to her feet. 

“Pepper” she turned to her mare where it lay unmoving in the snow. The horse's front leg was twisted, obviously broken and she was bleeding heavily. 

“The guards will see to her” Roose said, looking to a guard who nodded in understanding. The horse was not savable, in truth it would bleed out before long at this rate. 

“I killed him” she looked to the body in the snow. 

“Damned good thing” Roose told her, grabbing his handkerchief to cover the bleeding wound on her thigh. “You” he looked to the guards just arriving, “Get the maester and bring him to my chambers, I will get her back to the keep.”

“Aye, sir” the men whirled around, riding back to the keep. 

“You” Roose looked to the man on his knees, bleeding into the snow with a guard on each arm. “Did you know who she was?”

“Said was a Lady but--”

“She told you she was Lady Bolton?” Roose glared and the man nodded. 

“Didn’t believe her though, too pretty to be---”

“Kill him” Roose glared. “Slowly. Display him and the other man on the wall. The rest of the world will see what happens when you attack _my wife_.”

“Aye, sir” the guards agreed.

“Come” Roose lifted Sansa, her eyes still on the form of her horse. He carried her to his horse, setting her across the withers before mounting behind her. 

“Pepper” she whispered weakly, watching the horse as they rode away. He forced her head to his chest, hiding her eyes against his coat. He did not want her seeing the guards taking care of her horse, nor did he want her to watch as the guards took their enjoyment in killing the second man.

By the time they reached the fort, Sansa was slumped against his chest. From fainting or exhaustion, he did not know, but fear consumed him as he carried her inside and to their rooms. 

Laying her on the bed, he removed her boots, tossing them aside without care. The wound on her leg was deep, likely needing stitches, but somehow his warrior queen had taken down two men. 

“Pepper” she muttered, her eyes opening and now filled with tears. “Pepper?”

“The maester, Your Grace” Wolkan announced as the two men entered. 

From there, all Roose could do was watch as they cared for his wife. 

Pain in her leg woke her and she woke with a whimper, looking around the darkened room to see Roose asleep on the bed beside her, still in his clothes. 

She reached out to touch her husband's cheek and he jolted awake, startling her.

“Sansa” he sat up, looking over her person. 

“I should have taken a guard” she whispered sadly. “Pepper...Pepper might still be alive if I had. I am so sorry.” 

“You shouldn’t need a guard to ride our property” he told her. “The magistrate seemed to think these two were attached to a slew of burglaries around the area.”

“They were…” she shook her head. “I am not sorry I killed him.”

“Nor am I” he assured her. “Your leg, does it hurt terribly?”

“It hurts, but I do not want to take milk of the poppy” she shook her head. “I should like to clean up though.”

“I will send for a bath, we just have to be careful of your stitches” he told her, rising to ring for the maid. 

“Stitches?” she sat up, looking to her leg and the long cut that travelled diagonally down her thigh. 

“The maester stitched you up” Roose explained, returning to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. 

“I can see that” she chuckled. “I forgot…”

“Your Grace” a maid appeared in the door. 

“A warm bath and a tray of food,” he instructed and she vanished with a bow. “The men are both dead, Sansa. They will never hurt anyone again.”

“Good” she nodded, meeting her husband’s gaze. “Arya told me once that sword fighting would come in handy.”

“She was not wrong” he cupped her cheek and the worry in his eyes shot to her heart. 

“I am well” she promised him, leaning into his touch. 

“There is more, Sansa” he spoke softly. 

“More?”

“The maester, he asked if you could be with child” he said. “Asked when you last bled and I…I did not know.”

“The week before our wedding” she whispered. 

Roose nodded, “He would guess from his quick examination, that you are with child.”

“Oh” she blinked away tears. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think---”

“I know, my love.”

“I wouldn’t have put myself in danger if I knew, I promise you” she said quickly, tears falling from her eyes. 

“I know,” he assured her. “I know. Besides” he gave a small smile. “Even with child you shot a man in the throat and cut another down. Rather impressive if you ask me.”

“I’m pregnant” she whispered. 

“We can have the maester back to confirm, but if you have not bled in three moons” he let the implication hang in the air between them. 

A knock sounded at the door and the maids entered, carrying hot water to fill the tub in the adjacent room. Working quickly and silently, Sansa had time to gather her emotions as they readied her bath. 

A baby. 

Of course, she knew the intentions of the marriage bed. Knew the reason, the primary reason, for coupling was procreation, she just hadn’t stopped to think that she could be pregnant. She had been so busy enjoying her husband and their life in the North that it never dawned on her that she had missed her moon’s blood. 

When the maids had gone, leaving the bath and food in their wake, Roose helped her out of her shift and carried her to the bath, lowering her to the water. 

“Oh, that’s lovely” she sighed as Roose moved to sit beside her and, with a gentle hand, helped to wash her hair and rinse away the soap. 

She sighed, leaning against his hands and her eyes drifted closed. She knew that Roose loved her, he told her often and showed her every day how much he cared for her. He was a cold man on the surface, but deep down he was a man who had so much love to give. And he had chosen to give it to her. 

She had never meant to put herself in danger, and certainly not the life of their child. Beneath the water, her hand moved to settle on her stomach. A baby. Their baby. She smiled, a few tears escaping her eyes. She prayed silently, asking The Mother to protect her and their child, asking to keep their child safe. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in all the realms” Roose whispered. 

“You’re just saying that because I am your wife” she smiled as he leaned in to softly kiss her. 

“Perhaps” he grabbed a towel. “Now come, you need to eat and then you can rest some more.” 

“Alright” she nodded. He helped her to stand and then picked her up and set her down on a towel, drying her slowly, reverently, careful to avoid the angry wound on her thigh.

“My Red Queen” he smiled up at her as he towelled her legs dry. 

“My husband” she replied as he stood, pulling her into his embrace. His arm banded around her, helping to support her weight. “I love you.” 

“And I you” he leaned closer, kissing her softly. 

“I hate you!” Sansa sobbed as she struggled to bring their child into the world. Not their first, no, their fourth in fact, but she was in pain nonetheless. 

After ten years of marriage and 3 sons, they were hoping for a daughter, a little girl they could name Arya, for her sister. Domeric, Eddard and Royce were downstairs with Aunt and Uncle Glover, once Lyanna and Galbart who had married a year after Roose and Sansa had. The boys were anxious but excited, all hoping for another brother to add to the mix. 

The boys were all Boltons to a ‘t’, with dark hair, light eyes and inherent skill with a blade. Though Domeric was only 9, and Eddard 7, they already enjoyed his fencing lessons. Royce, who was just 4, was anxious to start his when he was old enough. 

He had been worried about being a father, his own upbringing being far from warm or nurturing, but with Sansa at his side, being a parent was as easy as fencing. 

“I know” Roose smiled softly as she clung to him, breathing deeply as pain wracked her body. 

“Alright, Your Grace” the midwife said with a smile. “One more big push, the head is already out and it's another head of dark hair.”

Sansa nodded, holding onto his hand and arm, “Alright.” Roose held her as the pain built and he watched his warrior wife as she bore down, pushing with all her might until the babe slipped into the midwife’s arms.

“Another son!” the midwife slapped the babe’s bottom and the high cries filled the air.

“A son” Sansa laughed, tears in her eyes. 

“Rogar” Roose smiled, watching as their son was attended by the nurses. 

“Rogar” Sansa nodded, relaxing to the pillows behind her. They babe’s blanket was born and the midwife stepped away, cleaning up and seeing to Rogar. A few moments passed and then the midwife was placing the babe in Sansa’s arms, his cries quieting as he snuggled against his mother’s chest. “He’s beautiful.” 

“He is” Roose sat beside her, kissing her temple. “And you, are a goddess.”

“Am I?” she smiled through her exhaustion up at him.

“Indeed” he nodded. “Shall I go get the boys?” he asked. 

“Help me clean up first, I don’t want to scare them” she laughed, then winced at the pain lingering in her body. 

“Alright, love” he helped Rogar into the nurse’s hands before he saw to Sansa, helping her to clean and redress before carrying her and their newest son to their chambers. 

“When will he be old enough to fight?” Domeric asked as he lay across the foot of the large bed in the master’s chambers. 

“Not for a few years, my darling” Sansa smiled at her eldest son. 

“Well, that’s boring” Domeric sighed dramatically, flopping to his back, reminding her so much of Arya. 

“I am sorry” she smiled and she felt Roose laughing silently beside her. Roose, as fierce as he was, was a doting father and dedicated husband. He loved them all, very much, and she thanked the Gods every day for the path that had brought him into her life. 

Even now, as he held Rogar’s small form in his arms, he was still the deadly warrior who had brought a rebellion to a halt with a stroke of a dagger. 

“Father says I can start my lessons soon” Royce beamed. 

“Did he?” Sansa smiled at her four year old son.

“I will be 5 soon,” he said, sounding far older than he was, the look in his eyes entirely Roose. 

“Indeed you will” she smiled, reaching out to smooth his dark brown-nearly black hair. “But for now, it is past all of your bedtimes.” 

“Mooooooom” Domeric sighed. 

“I know,” Sansa laughed. “Your father can see you to bed, my loves.” 

“Give your mother a kiss” Roose said, settling Rogar into her arms. The boys kissed her cheeks before tumbling from the bed, Roose following them out the door. 

Sansa smiled down at the bundle in her arms, one who was now whimpering and rooting around in hunger. She deftly untied her nightgown and helped Rogar to her latch on, watching as he nursed happily, his small hand resting on her breast.

She could hardly believe that such miracles were made from her body, such beautiful sons that would look just like their father when they grew older. She reached out, stroking Rogar’s smooth cheek as he ate greedily. 

“You’re stunning” Roose’s deep voice sounded from the doorway and she looked up to see him leaning against the jam.

“You’re just saying that because I am your wife” she smirked. 

“Perhaps” he moved from the jam and shut the door behind him. Shrugging out of his waistcoat and boots he stretched out beside her. “Could also be because you have given me four sons.” 

“Ah yes” she smirked. “The dream of every Duke, sons a-plenty.” 

“I daresay even daughters would have been equally as fierce” Roose smiled over at her, his hand reaching out to lay over hers where it held Rogar. 

“Next time” she promised. 

“I am an old man, wife,” he replied. 

“Not that old” she smiled. 

“No” he agreed. “I suspect that I will want you until the moment The Stranger comes to take me to the next life. Perhaps even after that.”

“Romantic” she teased. 

“I love you, Sansa” he said, his tone serious as his fingers smoothed over hers.

“I love you” she replied. “And I love our family.”

“My diamond amongst swine” he smirked, relaxing against her side. 

“I do not think that is how the saying goes,” she countered. 

“You want me to call Lady Margaery something other than ‘swine’?”

“Good point” she laughed softly. “Touche” she relaxed against the pillows, watching her husband and their newborn son as they both slipped into slumber, their foreheads creasing in exactly the same manner. Sansa smiled, knowing that every bit of heartache she had endured had brought her here, to Roose. Every bit had been worth it.

_ “Bloody Sap”_ Arya’s taunting laughter echoed in her mind and Sansa blinked away tears. 

Sap, indeed. Sap indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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